


Intertwined

by laEsmeralda



Series: Plain Truths [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyla helps John come to terms with himself, while Oliver attempts to reconcile his new role with Barry and the true nature of his relationship with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intertwined

Lyla smiled down at John from her perch atop him. "That," she whispered, wiping sweat from her face, "was altogether satisfactory, _and_ we didn't wake Sara."

John chuckled quietly. "I had hoped for a better review, but I'll take what I can get." He smoothed his hands up her thighs. "I'm so lucky."

"Sooo lucky," she agreed, slipping off to lay her head on his shoulder and sling an arm over his chest. 

John felt a peculiar echo in her movement. Yesterday, Oliver had occupied exactly that position on the same side, snuggled up to him like a big cat, shocking him speechless. It had been more stunning than the several wholly unexpected acts that had preceded it. 

He couldn't put off the additional disclosure any longer. So, over a dinner that he had prepared, John talked with Lyla about the unforeseen dimensions of getting physical again with Oliver.

"You suddenly look…guilty," Lyla observed after hearing him out.

"I can't help but feel like I've done something wrong," he said. "These were two completely separate parts of my life before. Now, they _overlap_. I don't have any experience with how to manage that."

"Just keep being honest." Lyla sighed and put her hand over his. "These parts of your life, of you, weren't completely separate before, you were just kidding yourself that you could do without one. I tried to tell you that years ago." 

When John asked Lyla to move in together the first time, and before he let her answer, he had confessed his occasional encounters with men. He stressed to her that he had not engaged in one since she had agreed to a second date. Lyla had been curious, even turned on. She gave him permission he hadn't asked for, and yet he abstained. 

He believed in monogamy, and what he believed in, he honored with strict discipline. Lyla believed in monogamy _within_ one's immutable sexual orientation. If that orientation included both sexes, there wasn't any getting around it, and trying to was denial. She had tried to make him understand, reminding him why she was a master of nonviolent interrogation. But then, they had split over a myriad of other perceived differences, and the point had been moot.

Except that Lyla's theory proved out within a few weeks of their separation. An ex-marine who covered the late shift at John's favorite firing range had given the necessary signals and John had ended one night getting off with him in an ammo closet. Desperately.

"Trying to let Oliver go made you less happy. Less whole." Lyla's voice brought him back from the past. 

"You're right," John admitted. "But _you_ are the most important person in my life and I want us to work this time."

"Then stay the course. Maybe part of why we didn't work before was because you were too distanced from yourself. Sure, I feel a little sexually threatened. But Oliver isn't going to take you away from me."

John smiled broadly and squeezed her leg under the table. "No way."

"Come over to the couch with me." "Lyla tossed her napkin on the table and tugged John out of his chair. "You know," she said, slyly as they settled next to each other, "I've always been intrigued by your attraction to men. Certain rare men. I might have seemed stunned when you sprang the Oliver thing on me. But once I got over the sheer surprise, I can tell you it's hot." 

"This is where you tell me you've always wanted a threesome?" he joked, knowing better.

She scoffed. "He and I fundamentally clash too hard for me to ever be attracted to him. But the idea of you together, sparring turned sexy…." She let her eyes roll up and pretended to faint.

"It's turning out not to be all battle-practice gone sideways," he said, gently.

"It never was for you," she replied, her eyes flickering open again. "I don't mean to dismiss it as a fantasy I can get off to. You're sweet and full of love to begin with. You were alone, vulnerable. Along comes this smart, hard-packed, deeply wounded man who needs you and it just pushes all your buttons at once. You've run off to protect him more times than I can count, and in more ways than you ever meant to. If I was going to freak out by now, it wouldn't be because he _kissed_ you." 

The wave of gratefulness he'd felt earlier swept over him again. "You amaze me," John said, simply.

She blinked back at him for a few long moments, her smile mysterious, before she spoke again. "This thing he started with Barry Allen… does it bother you? That you _aren't_ the only man he'd let touch him?"

John considered it. "I forced him to face a desire he didn't know he had. And then I cut him off. It's incredible that he waited ten months." He sighed. "Besides, he convinced himself it's a pay-it-forward thing."

Lyla chuckled. "How noble that he thinks he's playing doctor. As I'm sure you thought you were at first."

"I think he has more insight than I did. But yeah." Something else occurred to John then. "Listen, I trust Oliver to be smart, to be safe, but I'm not making that decision for you too. Anything, well… wet, given or received, involves a condom."

"I hope that doesn't include tongues," Lyla said, aghast in mock horror. 

John's face felt hot even though he knew she was teasing. "No. But even kissing carries some risks. I guess we should talk about that."

She leaned toward him confidentially. "If we were all stupid drunk at a party and Oliver tongue-kissed _me_ , I'm pretty sure I wouldn't run to the doctor. A shrink maybe."

John snorted. "I can see you're taking this seriously."

"I absolutely am. It frankly shocks me that Oliver didn't have twelve STDs by the time he met you. But now? He wouldn't risk you for anything." For a moment, she inspected his collar. "That said, if there's penetration, I'd still rather you use protection." 

"I told you, we don't… fuck." He didn't know what else to call what they didn't do. Somehow, it seemed like the wrong word.

"That's a crying shame," Lyla said. "Oliver could use a good pounding. Or you? I'm willing to leave the door open if you are."

John found himself shaking his head adamantly. "I don't.... Never mind. I hear you. Door's open. Thank you."

"Awww. I blew your mind."

"You often do."

"So you may now ditch the condoms for blow jobs. He'll appreciate the additional trust." She touched John's shoulder. "Back to the subject of the kid. You say it doesn't bother you. I'm skeptical. It's what pushed you to tell me all about Oliver." 

"It was a long-overdue discussion."

"But you had it with me because Oliver was _maybe_ moving on. And you realized in the nick of time that you weren't. Don't forget, I've met Barry. He's tall and pretty and seems kind and shy. I'd be jealous if I were you."

"You skipped his genius-level IQ." John replied sardonically. But Lyla's probing brought up something he'd pushed to the side. "Oliver said that if we were still—how did he put it— _sharing_ , he'd ask me to _help_ with Barry. It really rocked me back. I don't know what to make of it."

"Wow. It's an emotional admission," Lyla said. "He thinks of you as a serious partner—gives you notice, asks for permission in a round-about way, wants to include you."

Uncomfortable feelings welled up in John's chest and throat. "That's…."

"Intense as hell? Yeah." Lyla toyed with a sofa cushion. "I know it's been more than physical for you. I didn't expect it to ever be more than that for Oliver."

The discomfort intensified. "Does that change any of this for you?" He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice. 

She shrugged. "Nah. You're the part of the equation I care about. If anything, it makes me feel like he'll be more careful with your feelings. So, what about helping with Barry?"

"Out of the question."

"Because of you or Oliver? Or because of what you think I'll feel?"

"I… I don't know how to answer that."

Lyla sighed. "Lean back and close your eyes. Let me experiment on you."

He responded, as usual, to the quiet authority in her voice. He felt her shift closer, but she didn't lay hands on him. 

"Suspend your disbelief and don't argue with facts of the scenario I describe, okay?"

"I'll try." 

"Let's say you're exhausted from a mission and take a quick nap in your emergency bunk. You wake up and head out into the lab, and you happen to walk in on them, together, shirts off, kissing. What do you feel?"

A flash of anger at being confronted with the reality of Oliver's hands, strong on Barry's skin, the dance of their mouths. 

"I see that you're surprised, feeling possessive, a little hurt. What else?"

"Lyla, I don't—"

"Please."

He tried to relax back, to just listen to her voice, the command in her voice. 

"Barry's letting him lead for now. Oliver sees you and pauses. You see in his eyes that he isn't surprised. He _knew_ you were there, made enough noise to wake you. He beckons you over with a jerk of his chin. Ah—there." Lyla's hand smoothed up over the bulge in his trousers and lightly squeezed. 

"Not fair," John rumbled, opening his eyes to her very blue ones.

"But accurate. How amazing is it that rather than just wanting to get off with the new, young guy, Oliver wants you there too? He secretly _loves_ you," she said, teasing and serious at once. 

John ached under her hand. He felt confused. A little lost. 

"Blunt is better, John, denial isn't going to help you." Her phone trilled and she got up to answer. "Yeah, Oliver." She looked at John with a significantly smug expression. "Sure, I can spare him. Where? I'll let him know." She clicked off. 

"Why'd he call you?"

"He wanted to ask if he could have borrow you for an hour or two of _personal time_."

John almost choked on that breath. For Oliver to make a call like that was… unbelievable.

"Funny, he didn't think to ask you if you're up for it." She smiled down at him. "Go on, get the hell out of here. He's at the new apartment. Says Thea's out of town." 

Feeling ridiculously clumsy all of a sudden, John pulled her in for a kiss.

Afterward, she stroked his cheek. "Don't worry about me. I suddenly have an appointment with a vibrator and my vivid imagination."  
*******

John waited outside the door in the opulent hallway, trying to stop trembling with anticipation. The panel swung back. "Remind me to make you a key," Oliver said, standing barefoot in t-shirt and jeans. "You always had free run of the house when I had a house."

"Not for the same… reasons," John replied, not knowing what to do with his hands.

Oliver's hands stayed in his pockets. "Come up to my room, it's the one place I'm sure isn't bugged," he said, softly. 

It was a huge room with a panoramic view and plush furnishings in hues of gray. Oliver shut and locked the door. "Thank you for coming."

"I'll pass your thanks to Lyla," John replied, his mouth wry.

"Dig, I'm having some regrets about starting this thing with Barry."

John just waited, making his posture as easy and open as he could. He often found that body language worked better with Oliver than words.

"I thought you and I, well, that we weren't going to… that we were done." Oliver scrubbed a hand across his face and John realized he had _shaved_. "Barry called me tonight. He sounded rough, and he wanted to know if he could visit. I didn't say _no_ but I… I don't want to mess up you and me. I know you said you don't give a damn what—"

"—That wasn't altogether true," John interrupted. "But I'm fine with Barry. He needs you." John took a step closer. "That said, I'm sheepishly glad that you're conflicted." Another step, chest to chest, nose to nose, hands at their sides. He leaned in and kissed Oliver slowly, searchingly, until he had to let out his own leash and found himself overbearing Oliver to the bed. He eased his weight down, trapping Oliver's obviously willing body. 

The spark that Lyla had teased out flared. He couldn't get enough of Oliver's mouth—for all the times he wanted to kiss him and didn't. He wanted skin contact. More. His fingers flew and he balanced this way and that to get rid of Oliver's clothing. Helping, Oliver managed to get John's shirt and trousers open, and John worked them off, never leaving Oliver's mouth. The miracle of Oliver lying pliant under him, not wrestling, not offering any pretense for the contact, made him shudder. 

His hands roamed over varied textures, tracing skin with a light touch that Oliver had always shunned before. The big body under him arched and squirmed. Finally, he let their mouths separate. "There's just one more thing," he said, fiercely, hands tight on Oliver's shoulders. "Any fucking, _if ever_ , happens only between you and me."

Underneath him, Oliver gasped. "I didn't know you wanted that."

"Well I sure as hell can't stand the idea of you doing it with any other man. Giving or receiving. So if you ever want that, please come to me. We'll figure it out." 

At that, Oliver's hands were on his ass, holding him tight. "I think about it, with you. But I'm pretty sure I can't handle the reality." 

Relief washed over John that it hadn't already happened with someone else, and then he caught up. "You think about it?"

"Lots. Every which way we could."

John's cock throbbed hard at the idea of Oliver beating off to that fantasy. It hadn't made its way into his own imagination until Barry, wide-eyed and youthful, had hit Oliver's radar and John wondered if something had been missing between them. "I always worried—"

"I know. But there isn't anything you and I could do together that would remind me of torture." Oliver looked at him searchingly for a few long moments. "Dig, we stopped getting off together because you wanted to be faithful to Lyla. If we hadn't stopped, I told you, I would have come to you about Barry and we would have decided whether or not to help him together. I wouldn't change a thing about how we've been. Well, except I'm glad for this…." He arched up to snag John's mouth with his.

The rub of bodies and mouths was so potent, the session could easily have ended there. But John had other ideas. 

He rolled off and reached for the bedside drawer and then realized he didn't need to. But the last thing he wanted to do now was break the renewed action with more conversation. He retrieved a condom, unrolled it onto Oliver and plunged his mouth over him. John knew he was good at this. Even when Oliver had been the most confused and angry at himself for allowing John to touch him, he couldn't resist John's mouth on his cock. 

Now that Oliver was welcoming everything rather than resisting, it was difficult to make it last. 

At some point, Oliver started stroking John, slow and steady, in time with John's tongue, mirroring him with his hands. John let his hips thrust just a little in response and Oliver did the same, careful not to gag him. Just when John knew he was losing control himself, he pushed Oliver over the edge. 

As they lay catching their breath John said, "Whatever else happens, you know you're mine, right?"

"No," Oliver replied, "you're _mine_."  
*******

John was floating, warm and blissful, when he awoke with a sudden start. He glanced at his watch. He had only been asleep for a half-hour, Oliver tangled in the sheets beside him. But the thought that had awoken him was chilling. He grasped Oliver's shoulder. 

Awakening slowly, Oliver reached out and touched his chest. "Glad you're still here," he murmured.

"You might not be in a second. Did you wipe the cameras?"

Oliver sat up. "Shit."

"I forgot too," John said, already moving for his clothing.

They rode in virtual silence. John let a hand drift briefly from the steering wheel to Oliver's thigh, reassuring him. Once at the warehouse, they strode quickly, keyed in, and scrambled down the stairs. Oliver brought up a computer while John checked the bunker. "It's just me, Roy," he called in response to the sleepy stirring from behind the last shelf in the lab. "Forgot to handle something time sensitive. Go back to sleep." He joined Oliver at the screen.

"Damn," Oliver muttered, "Felicity."

"There's no code," John observed over Oliver's shoulder.

"Dig. It wasn't you or me. And Roy sure as hell doesn't know how." Oliver buried his face in his hands. "Now, I feel bad."

"It's Felicity. I don't mind her knowing." He didn't.

"She probably minds knowing. I've hurt her and she's not over it."

John thought about it. "If anything, she's been smiling more the past couple of days."

"That's odd."

"Not really. Let me talk with her." He tugged Oliver's jacket. "Come on, I'll drop you home."  
*******

It was almost unforgivably late when John knocked on Felicity's door. She opened it fully clothed, her restrictive daytime fashion having given way to a t-shirt, leggings, and freshly scrubbed face. This was not the latest John had ever been at her place, insomnia was her frequent companion. The moment she saw him, she looked guilty.

"So, I've come to see a woman about some camera code."

She let him in without a word, color high in her cheeks. 

He felt compelled to say something about the dramatic difference in her look. He realized that she had a history of personas—emo and now princess—to hide how seriously she should be taken. At some point, he felt that the real Felicity should show herself to the world and really give it the finger. "You know, you're especially beautiful like this. I'm not judging the usual wardrobe and all, but I hope you know it isn't necessary. It seems to hobble you." 

"Noted," she said, without chagrin. "And thanks."

"So… you've watched."

She nodded, awkwardly, something in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "I… I assumed you wanted it gone."

"Is it truly gone?"

The color heightened. "Sorry. Curiosity. It's encrypted though." She started for her desk.

"Keep it."

She whirled, surprise evident.

"We trust you with our lives. I can trust you with that footage. How many times?"

She smiled weakly. "Oh, lots."

"Anything you want to know?"

She fiddled with her sleeve. "Oliver's not gay, right?"

"I'd call him flexible. Like me, but less so. His relationships with women are real, not compensation."

"So I can't rely on _gay_ to make me feel better." She frowned. "Why can he be your partner, your friend, and have sex with you without putting you in too much danger and believe it would be different with me? You're a potential hostage, same as me."

"I'm not in love with him."

She blinked back at him, thrown for a second. "Well, don't be too sure. I saw your face, Dig."

John sighed. He couldn't protest. "Okay. Let's say that unlike you, I'm never going to hope for him to settle down with me and have a normal life, so that dream can't be taken from either of us. I'm a professional soldier. I already go into the field with him, fight side-by-side, put my life at risk for him, so he can't feel any more guilty or responsible about that than he already does." He considered whether to say the rest and decided to go ahead. "And, frankly, I never gave him much wiggle room in the matter." 

Again, the new spark in Felicity's eyes.

"Why is it that you and Lyla find it so—"

"—Mind-blowingly hot?" she interrupted sharply. Then, she smiled. "I guess we all think Oliver could use some… manhandling, so that's satisfying all by itself. But seriously, you should see you two together." She strode over to the laptop and brought up the footage. "I'll get us some herbal tea. You absorb this dose of reality while I'm out of the room."

The footage was five minutes long, if that, and as trouser-steel inducing as his favorite porn. He put the laptop back to sleep. Felicity returned with the tea as though on cue. He didn't get up.

"Understand?" she asked.

He sipped the tea. Her face was at ease, not angry. He felt relieved. "Oliver is afraid to hurt you more. It was the first thing he said when we realized you'd seen it. I don't want you hurt either."

"This actually helps. It's hard to explain." Her fingers tapped on her cup. "I don't think I've ever let on that I find you to be a truly magnificent specimen of a man." Her eyes swept him quickly. "The only reason I didn't try to date you when we first met was this super-protective thing you have going. It takes someone as nine-lives-tough as Lyla, or Oliver, for you to feel like you don't constantly have to guard them. Really, it's your fault I started to fall for Oliver. You've always interacted with me like I'm too young—off your radar."

John snorted. "You _are_ too young for me. But you've paid me quite a compliment. In fact, I'm suddenly feeling awkward being here with you." Mostly, it was a jest. But the tension had heightened, alone here with a very attractive woman who had been getting off watching him neck with Oliver. She had him watch too, right here, knowing the effect it would have on him. No, Felicity was not to be underestimated. He dared a little more since he finally felt safe to stand. He swallowed the rest of the tea and got up. "Dearest, you aren't off the radar. But our lives are complicated enough, that's all." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, felt her hand come up and press his face. And then he went home.  
*******

Barry unbuttoned and rebuttoned the top of his shirt, and then left the top button open. He ran a hand through his hair. All unnecessary fussing, no doubt Oliver couldn't care less. He grabbed his spare room key and headed for the bar. 

Sitting in the far corner, Oliver raised a finger, glass already in hand. Barry wove his way through the tables.

"Hi," Barry said, feeling silly at his breathlessness. 

"Hi," Oliver replied with a warm smile. "Glad you made it okay. I took the liberty of ordering you something for appearances sake. It's nice." 

It was an old scotch. "Wow," Barry exclaimed at the rich, smoky flavor.

"I need to tell you something I probably should have said before you got on the train. But I… wanted you to come."

Something deep in Barry fluttered in anticipation of disappointment. To travel all this way for what he'd expected… it was crazy in retrospect.

Oliver read his face. "We're still on. If you want to be when I'm finished talking."

Barry sipped, gave Oliver room to speak. 

"The mystery man, as you call him, is available to me again."

"Oh."

"Which doesn't change my availability to you. But there's a complication on my part."

All Barry could do was raise an eyebrow and concentrate on quieting his heart.

"I'm finding that I'm reluctant to leave him out. It's not a requirement to involve him. But I wanted to tell you."

Heat was rising in Barry's face. He'd hurried here all hot and bothered for something that had felt authentic. The last thing he wanted was to be _serviced_. He decided to be direct, as difficult as it was to say the words out loud. "It's important to me that you want this with me, even need it. It sounds like you don't."

"That would be the wrong conclusion to draw," Oliver said quietly. His eyes flicked to Barry's throat.

Something in the look made Barry feel Oliver's teeth grazing there for a split second. He coughed to cover the gasp.

"Desires are not so simple," Oliver murmured. "I'd like you to let me show you that."

Barry wondered exactly when the sound of Oliver's voice had taken on aphrodisiac qualities. "Is the mystery man the person I figured?"

Regarding Barry for a long moment, Oliver finally nodded. 

"Both of you—I just don't think I can go there."

Oliver said, "Like I said, it isn't necessary, but I needed you to know what's going on in my head." He tossed back his whisky. "Did all that talking ruin the anticipation? I hope not."

Oliver's tone, not deliberately provocative but inherently so, made Barry forget all about his trepidation. He nudged Oliver's leg under the table with the second room key. "3112—see you in five." Oliver took it. Barry signed the check to his room and left at a normal walk.

It should feel different this time. He had taken plenty of time to adjust, to know that he wanted _this_ whatever it was, that other options weren't what he wanted. That didn't help him be less freaked out that he was waiting in a hotel room with a hard dick for Oliver Queen. When the door clicked, he unconsciously stepped back. 

Oliver kept his eyes on Barry's as he closed the door behind him and put the key in his pocket rather than setting it down. He was keeping that key. It gave Barry a thrill. Oliver walked to the nightstand, unclasped his watch and set it down with his phone. "What is it, exactly, that you had in mind when you phoned?"

Barry shivered. He had been on edge the entire, long train ride imagining what he would say, what he'd ask for, what they'd do. He dismissed all that. "Simply put, I need to touch and be touched. It doesn't have to be sex." 

"Mm," replied Oliver, "I think it does." He reached out and clasped both of Barry's upper arms, feeling the small tremor, the trapped speed being held back. "For me, anyway. You've had me on edge for two days, imagining."

Another thrill. "Will this… is this causing a problem for you and him?" Barry could see a fast flicker of concern quickly masked. 

"Absolutely not for Dig. He knows what to expect. I'm spread a little thinner than I was when I approached you. But the attraction is simple enough." His fingers ran along the shirt seaming. "This is a great color on you. I missed your smell. And there's how you _feel_." Oliver said, earnestly, before sliding his arms around Barry, pulling him close. 

The embrace felt just right, with Oliver embodying safety and warmth above everything else. But there was no room for secrets, they could feel one another's eagerness. Barry wrapped his arms around Oliver in return, nestling cheek to cheek, and froze. Oliver's face was smooth. Barry had been too nervous in the bar, too mesmerized by Oliver's eyes, his voice, to even notice. He knew instantly that it had been done for John, and the words _I only shave it off if I'm in a serious relationship,_ came back to him. 

Tears filled his eyes and he wasn't sure why. "I told Iris," he blurted out. _That's why_ , his mind replied in anguish.

Oliver tightened his hold, his fingers spreading wide against Barry's back. "That you're in love with her?"

The tears were running, unstoppable. "It went pretty much like you predicted. She was upset, kind, but she doesn't love me like that. Even though she has a huge crush on the fucking Flash. And… she moved in with Eddie." He reached up to wipe his face, trying not to soak Oliver's shirt. "I'm an idiot. But I feel better that I'm not still holding all that in. I have to keep so many other secrets."

"You aren't an idiot," Oliver admonished. "You're such a good man, better than I could ever be." 

In the face of Oliver's compassion, Barry became overwhelmed and couldn't stop. The shock of embarrassment was quickly swept away in the storm of hurt.

"Let it go," Oliver whispered.

He felt himself backed to the bed and lifted onto it, rolled to his side. Oliver curled around him from behind, holding him tightly, and let him cry it out. One of Oliver's thighs tucked over his legs, keeping all of him close. 

At some point, the box of tissues from the nightstand appeared before him. He felt exhausted. "What am, I, seven?" he quipped, hoarsely, his nose stuffy. He reached for a tissue and blew. The embarrassment flooded back, to have cried in the presence of one of the toughest people on Earth. "Not very manly."

"Yes," Oliver said simply. "You are." He unbuttoned Barry's shirt and slipped a warm, roughened hand inside against his chest. "The way you love is brave. I wish the world weren't so hard on you. I'm… trying to help."

"You're much nicer than you let on," Barry observed. 

"Don't let it get out." Oliver unconsciously shifted, having held still for some time. 

In that movement, Barry could feel that he was hard. Apparently, emotion was not necessarily a turn off. "It's really not like me to fall apart."

"You haven't had anywhere safe to fall apart. That's not okay. Even I have that. He's better at this than I am."

"You're pretty damn good." Barry thought about how Oliver must be feeling. So much had happened in a short time, it had to be confusing. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to turn Barry away, and no, it wasn't mercy. But he was being pulled away from a fresh reconnection with John. Barry took a deep breath. "If you called John right now, and asked him to join us, would he?"

"That isn't really what you want." Oliver's voice was gentle with understanding.

Barry pressed Oliver's hand harder to his chest. "Look, I can feel that you're as horny as I am, but it isn't like we can't put that off. I just cried like a child, indicating that I do not have my shit together." He shifted within Oliver's embrace, half onto his back so he could look up at the man. "And you shaved _for John_."

Realization swept over Oliver's features. "I forgot I had said anything." 

"You weren't expecting it to mean anything anytime soon."

"But it doesn't change this." Oliver cupped the side of Barry's face, thumb stroking the edge of Barry's lips. He bent to kiss him.

It was difficult not to become fully absorbed in Oliver's kiss. Barry had to struggle to keep some observation. He had been looking differently at men since that amazing couple of days, but he hadn't discovered other attractions. He'd found himself more than a little obsessed with this guy, trying to understand why. He softened his mouth and let their tongues dance. "Mmm," he unconsciously hummed in response. Oliver's weight all along him, partial though it was, felt _good_. 

When Oliver pulled back, Barry sighed and opened his eyes. "I don't have a vast library of comparisons, but you're a great kisser." 

"It's strangely easy to find your rhythm," Oliver answered. 

Being a hopeless geek, Barry had pondered things like the extra sibilance on Oliver's _s_ and the particular rate at which it vibrated, intimate when it wasn't harsh in anger. So the idea of matching rhythms made sense, everything could be seen in waves of vibration. "So, what you're saying is that you like kissing me, that we're good kissers together."

"You can _feel_ that, right?" he asked, referring to the obvious. "Or should I be insulted?"

Barry laughed a little, which also felt great. He hadn't been laughing much lately. 

Oliver smiled—he seemed prone to smile more than usual. "What I said about bravery—there are different kinds, right? You made it possible for me to kiss Dig for the first time."

Barry couldn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise. A picture fired in his brain and his dick responded. He cut off a groan. "That's unexpectedly… hot."

Oliver's eyes seemed to have taken on a darker shade of blue. "You like that. I'm surprised."

"Not more than I am." Variations on a theme strafed his brain. It became four hands on Oliver, two mouths, making him lose his mind and his silence. Barry shivered. "You deserve to feel good. He's wanted that for a long time and you're finally giving him the chance." 

"Because of you." Oliver's lips returned first to Barry's mouth, then his throat, arms braced to slide his weight down as he traversed chest and belly along the open shirt. 

Barry let him take the lead, let it be slow, the removal of clothing and the smoothing of hands over skin that hadn't recently enjoyed attention. He so much wanted to touch, to give, but he understood better now the need to be present and receive with a grateful heart. 

They rolled, sweat mingling, legs tangling. Oliver's pace became more demanding, his touch urgent to the point that Barry surrendered to it, stopped trying to reciprocate. Actions blurred together. One moment he was fairly certain his balls were in Oliver's mouth, but the next, Oliver's teeth grazed the curve of his neck. He stifled a whine in response although he wasn't holding back much else.

"That's right, just feel." Oliver sounded breathless. "I _know_ you want it to be good for me. Having you let go like this, it's all I can do not to come all over you." 

Even Barry's endurance had a limit, and that was it. His orgasm felt like he shed a skin of light. Still, he could hear and feel Oliver indeed come all over him. The part of his mind that had any coherence left tried to record it for future reference.

He heard Oliver's watchband click into place and his eyes came open. He rolled over. Fully dressed, Oliver grinned at him and Barry reflexively smiled back, stretching into the luxurious bed. He could smell soap. "You showered, and I didn't wake up. I'm usually more aware than that." 

"You're feeling safe. I take it as a compliment. But we need to get you a different kind of sustenance, and I can't get ready as fast as you can." He checked his watch. "The rest of the team is expecting your train about now. So, it's your turn." 

What could have taken a lazy ten minutes translated into a mere few seconds. He slowed infinitesimally and kissed Oliver, tongue sweeping into his mouth, before going to stand by the door. He knew that caused him to seem to disappear naked and appear out of thin air fully showered and dressed. "Ready?"

Oliver touched his own lips. He looked at Barry suspiciously. "Did you…?"

Grinning, Barry turned to the door and then halfway back. "Um, were your fingers up my ass at some point?"

Oliver shrugged. "Seemed like the thing to do at the time."  
*******

It was both strange and good to see Oliver looking so _sated_. He and Barry came through the door of the restaurant in unconsciously synchronized strides although nothing about their demeanor would suggest—to the uninitiated—that something was up. 

John rose to shake Barry's hand. He was unprepared for the opposite hand that lingered on his bicep, the wide openness of the green eyes, or the smile of someone genuinely glad to see him. And then Barry slid past to hug Felicity, bump fists with Roy. 

The large and boisterous meal helped cover that Barry ate at least half of it by himself. An amused muscle twitched in John's cheek. He felt a foot under the table and looked across to Oliver. It was a good thing that everyone else was busy talking because Oliver didn't disguise the sexual communication in his gaze. John returned the reassurance. The waiter might have caught the tail end because he seemed flustered when he set down the next salad bowl. 

Oliver answered a phone call and motioned that he'd take it out in the street. A few minutes later, Felicity excused herself to the restroom. It was a pretense on her part, John was sure—Oliver had been avoiding the inevitable discussion and Felicity felt compelled to apologize in a not-so-private venue, so she'd ambush him on the way back in.

Roy and Barry were talking although they looked a little stand-offish. John joined them to smooth it over. He suspected that Roy primarily saw Barry as a peer competitor. The fact that Barry seemed to be running his own show made Roy feel like he was losing the (nonexistent) competition. John deftly asked some questions about both Dr. Wells and Joe, and Barry unwittingly illustrated that he was part of two older and more experienced teams for which he was more asset than leader. Roy visibly relaxed. John could have sworn that he received a grateful look from under Barry's long eyelashes.

After dessert, Felicity said she had to get to her other job to finish up some tasks—the price for leaving early to see Barry. That gave Roy an opening to zip off to whatever he did on a night off. John checked in by phone with Lyla—it was girls' night at the apartment, which for her meant going over munitions schematics with her closest colleagues over confiscated Cuban rum. He ran through the alerts system—nothing. So, they gym then. Not ideal right after dinner, but he was okay with it. Maybe a long steam.

"John." 

He looked up at Barry who had taken up Oliver's former spot across the table from him. Oliver was up at the bar settling their check. 

"Thanks for the help with Roy."

"He's not so bad, you know."

Barry wrinkled his nose. "Just a little too perfect."

"Really? He has a bad history and a big chip on his shoulder trying to atone for it. Boy's interpersonally as thick as a two-by-four, but he senses that something's up between you and Oliver. He thinks he's losing favor with the only man he's ever looked up to."

"Oh. So this would be a good time to exercise extra compassion."

John smiled at him. "Just a little friendly advice. Oh, and I owe you a fancy coffee on top of that." Barry gave him a quizzical look. John glanced sidelong at Oliver and slowly back. 

"Um. I wasn't expecting thanks for _that_."

John lowered his voice well below the restaurant noise. "You broke something open. I'm grateful."

"So… is it okay that I'm here?" 

John considered saying that if it weren't okay, Barry wouldn't be here, but in his head, that sounded unnecessarily alpha. "The way Oliver walked through that door tonight," he gestured, "that looked _good_. So, yes."

Barry showed sudden interest in a spoon. "Would you hang with us tonight? I'd like it if you would."

Something in John's deep vaults stirred. "I think I need a more precise definition of _hang_ before I can answer that."

The charming, rosy flush was one answer. Oliver's hand on his shoulder was another. "Don't toy with him, Dig, he's scared half to death already."

"Am not," Barry retorted. 

"Let's go," John said, standing, curiosity and something like the edge of danger gathering in him. 

"We came on the bike," Oliver said.

"I'll follow you." 

"May I ride with you?" Barry asked John. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow and left with an amused smile. Oliver led, didn't get too far ahead even though they both knew the way. John kept quiet until they were rolling. "Did you want to talk privately?"

"Mostly I just wanted to see what you were like without the others. If your presence changed, the frequency of your vibration."

John wondered what it must be like to be that sensitive, how Barry could manage loud cities. "And?"

"You project calm, and it's real, but you vibrate high and hard when you're vigilant. Like now. Or like when that drunk guy stumbled toward the table tonight."

"Old habits, current job."

"He loves you," Barry said abruptly. 

His first reaction was that it felt good, hearing someone else say it. Lyla had implied what she thought of Oliver's feelings, but they were both too soldierly to talk about it that way. His second reaction was to rebuff the comment. "Not for you to say."

"Yeah, I'd say it's none of my business, but I came along in the middle of _something_ and disturbed it."

"That something was on hiatus. And I'd say you disturbed it just right." Pulled up at a traffic light, John could safely glance at Barry. "Look, this isn't a sweeping romance, and you're by no means the tawdry interloper. We're both good with you being here."

"I just wanted you to know what I see."

"Oliver warned me that you're remarkably open," John had to smile, thinking of how that quality had worked on Oliver's armor, like water finding the chinks in steel. They were nearing the hotel. "What is it that you're expecting from me? Tonight."

"You're not, um, attracted to me." Barry observed, pausing. It wasn't a question and he seemed to be trying to find more words.

John cleared a sudden hitch in his throat. "That's a big conclusion to draw from not much information."

"Yeah, you're pretty inscrutable." Barry agreed.

"And you're very young. Very." He could feel Barry studying his profile.

"That matters to you? I'm not exactly an average guy my age."

"Which is why it makes sense to me that you and Oliver..." John sighed. "It's complicated." He pulled into the garage and saw Oliver striding to the elevators. 

"Good," Barry said. "I was near certain that this scenario was not like the bad plot of a creepy porno, but I had some questions. I'd like for both of us to focus on Oliver to begin with and see what happens. He could use some loss of control."

John felt his heart rate kick up a notch, mostly to send blood to his groin. He switched off the engine. "Good luck to us with that," he said with humor, trying to cover the response he was now aware that Barry could sense.

The elevator ride was quiet, both of them standing with arms folded, like oddly matched sentries. 

Barry keyed them in to find Oliver standing by the window. John opted to sit on the couch. "You guys want a drink?" Barry asked, bending to poke around in the minibar. 

Suddenly, John realized that he and Oliver were both watching Barry's ass. It caused a moment of silent hilarity between them. Oliver crossed the room. "You didn't bring us here for a drink." 

Barry froze and straightened, the personal space between them barely there. 

Right. Oliver had easily taken control. John felt both amused and caught up in the magnetism between the other two. 

In the next breath, Oliver was flat on his back across the turned-down bed, Barry's hand in the middle of his chest, legs straddling Oliver's. "You're so right. Why waste time? The thing is, I don't want to rush this. You two see each other all the time. This is it for me for another long stretch."

Oliver's hands drifted to Barry's hips. "Sorry," he said. "Really." He lay there, relaxed under Barry, and didn't make the next move. It was a gorgeous thing to see. Barry started to lean down to kiss him and hesitated. 

"Go ahead," John said, letting more than permission drift into his voice. 

First, Barry's mouth covered Oliver's and then his body rolled down, slowly, until he lay all along him. His near hand opened on the sheets, palm up and his fingers curled in an unmistakable invitation. 

John stood and shrugged out of his sport coat, kicking off shoes and socks. He had never done anything like this and felt a prickle of nervous sweat at the back of his neck. But his cock was already straining against his clothing, urging him into the fray. He walked around behind them and dispensed with both their shoes and socks, remembering the care with which Oliver had touched his feet just a few days ago. He slid onto the bed, keeping his distance. 

The long, slow kiss sounded as delicious as it looked. Thanks to this kid, he now knew what Oliver's mouth felt like. Barry slid away, half off Oliver, half on, making room. 

John moved to occupy the open space, thigh tight against Barry's. In this position, his cock pressed into Oliver's thigh, and he realized the same must be true for Barry. Oliver groaned and Barry broke the kiss. In the process of nuzzling into Oliver's neck, John met his mouth instead, soft and wet and hungry. 

He slid his hand down to cup Oliver, wedging partly under Barry's hip to do it. John craved the way Oliver felt in his hand, such a simple pleasure that usually required complex maneuvering to achieve. Oliver gasped against his lips. John pulled back from Oliver's mouth and stilled his hand although he left it there. "One of Oliver's secrets," John murmured to Barry, "is that he can withstand pain more easily than pleasure." 

Propped on one elbow, Barry loosened Oliver's tie and stripped it off. He started on buttons, making his way down slowly, flicking cloth aside, fingertips brushing skin along the way. 

"I'd like to know what I did to make you two conspire to murder me by inches," Oliver mused hoarsely. He didn't make any move to stop either of them. "Accepting that I'm not at all in charge of this situation," he continued, "I do have a small last request." 

John raised a brow. That was all Oliver was going to get. Barry remained silent, opening the last button on Oliver's shirt.

Oliver reached up and stroked a finger from the hollow of Barry's throat up along his Adam's apple to just under his chin and nudged him toward John before letting his hand fall back to his chest. "Please?" he asked John, "It'll be instructive." 

Heaving a deep breath, John met Barry's eyes—they'd been politely avoiding eye contact, creating space. He didn't see a flinch or other indication that what he was being asked to do was unwelcome. Neither could he read Barry well enough to know if it was _wanted_. But free of Oliver's hand, Barry leaned forward and John instinctively moved to meet him. It started out tentative but then John needed _more_ and Barry matched him. He tasted like mist after a morning thunderstorm, with an electric undertone. Barry sat up and wrapped a hand behind John's head. 

Under his hand, Oliver throbbed. Clearly, not put off. John wondered, distantly, whether this was going to get him in trouble with Lyla. _Oliver dared me_ , wasn't really going to fly. He pushed the thought away and fell into the kiss, understanding completely how this could have changed Oliver. There wasn't a battle of tongues, but a smooth swirling in which he would have lost track of whose flesh was whose, except that Barry ran noticeably hotter. Barry was leading, guiding. It made all his gentle, careful, responsible safeguards quake trying to hold back everything _else_ that he was, the limbic animal that rose up fiercely, armed to take. 

He broke away, finding himself up on his knees with Oliver's hand hooked in his waistband, preventing him from overbearing Barry. He let go of Barry's shoulders and sat back on his heels. "Sorry," he managed, out of breath. Oliver let go.

"No way," Barry replied, panting, "that was… awesome." His eyes seemed to blaze for a millisecond. "Are you always holding back that much energy?"

John didn't have language to easily answer the question. "I'm just a regular human. One has to have a strong predator nature to be an effective soldier. I want to use it to protect, not harm. You understand that better than anyone." Barry could be so destructive, unstoppable, if he wanted. But he didn't want. Neither did John. 

"You guys must blow the doors off a room when you're together," Barry said, wonderingly. 

That made him laugh. 

Below them, Oliver stretched languidly. "I'm afraid that poor Dig has felt the need to look after me and my tender ego too much to really let me have it. He also lets me win at chess."

The humorous mood hadn't reached Barry. He kept his eyes locked on John's, an echo of the strange light flashing again. "You can take me down, right now, do whatever you want, and I'll love it."

There was a moment between them in which John wasn't sure what he was going to do. It was like being hypnotized, the offer of Barry's body for _whatever_ he wanted hanging there in the air, the thud, thud of his own heart measuring the time for his answer.

Any ambiguity in the offer was cleared up when Barry added, "You can't hurt me. And if you do, I'll heal before we'd even notice."

Oliver had warned him about the kid's incredible openness. Suddenly calmer, he smoothed a hand over Barry's shoulder and gripped it. "Actually, I've never done what you mean. And I couldn't without there being a lot more between us first." 

Barry heaved in a breath. Brief disappointment flickered in his expression, quickly replaced with relief. He gave himself a tiny shake. "Of course. Heat of the moment," he replied. He looked down at Oliver and mock-growled. "And now you've had your last request." 

"I'm not sorry," Oliver replied, unrepentant. "Do your worst."

Barry worked off his own shirt and tossed it off the bed, reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. Two sets of eyes flicked to his hands in rapt attention. A spot of color appeared high on Barry's chest and John had enough mercy in his soul to start on his own shirt. He kept watching from under his lashes as Barry peeled off those jeans. Sometimes for John, an urge had just been about getting _cock_ , so it could hardly be irrelevant even in a complex situation like this. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the reality made him smile to himself. 

He busied himself getting Oliver the rest of the way naked, his own body responding strongly as always. He remembered the early days, when his intense frustration with the seemingly arrogant, insipid playboy was completely out of proportion to the man's behavior. On some level he had known it was a disguise from the start, because the attraction wouldn't have been present otherwise. 

Oliver's hands came to John's belt buckle. John pointedly removed them. "This _is_ our worst," he said, "making you lie there." Oliver's eyes were dark and wild, the edge close behind them. John backed off the bed and unbuckled himself, slowly, conscious that the tables had turned on him. As much as Barry was trying not to overtly look, Oliver was staring in desperate wait. Being free of the tight confines of his trousers was a sweet relief, but _what now_? He eased back onto the bed. Oliver's cock was so dark against his belly as to look painful. John caught Barry's gaze, then crouched down and slid his tongue along Oliver's nearest ankle.

Understanding, Barry flashed a smile and bent to mouth Oliver's opposite shoulder. By the time they met at Oliver's hips, their victim didn't seem to have much sanity left, and his persistent silence had broken. John angled his head to accommodate Barry and licked up the shaft as Barry licked down. A series of kisses began that incorporated Oliver's skin. Sensing the right time, John finally sucked the head into his mouth and swallowed, Oliver's cries loud within the plush room. 

Oliver was still shuddering when the two of them resumed their original positions lying along him. John lay with his eyes closed, contemplating the very personal briny essence he had wondered about for several years now. A hand nudged his and he opened his eyes to Oliver trying to intertwine fingers with his. He accommodated and propped up on an elbow. Barry sat up, tugging a bit of sheet over his lap.

Oliver's other hand was resting on his own belly. He opened his eyes. John thought they looked wet. "That was cruel. And unbelievably good," Oliver rasped. He rolled his head to look more directly at Barry. "So much for me helping you. That was hubris on my part."

"Not at all," Barry replied. "I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't have faced Iris, I wouldn't be free to get on with my life if you hadn't come to my apartment that day." 

Oliver struggled to sit up. He pulled John's forehead to his in their longstanding form of hug. "Dig, you made me come in your mouth," he murmured. 

"Yeah," John replied, utterly pleased with himself. "Barry helped." Oliver released him and leaned back on his arms expectantly. Barry tracked Oliver's movement and his brow furrowed, not understanding what was happening. 

Fortunately, John spoke Oliver's body language fluently. He expertly flipped Barry to his back and hauled him into the center of the bed in front of him, eliciting a surprised yelp. "I think you dared me to fuck you earlier. Not gonna happen, but it got me over worrying about your youth and vulnerability." He pulled the sheet away and ran his hand down Barry's chest, lower, over his belly and finally grasped him, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. 

Barry gasped, his throat arching. "That was before I saw what was in your pants. I'm suddenly much more prudent." 

John released his hold and slid over to cover Barry with his body. He dipped to bite a shoulder just hard enough to feel a flinch. A familiar caress swept over his ass—Oliver had shifted closer. John flicked his hips back and forth a few times, nipping that soft neck, leaving tiny indentations that would redden and might be a little difficult to explain later, wanting to mark him. He let just enough of the predator out to suggest to Barry what he was capable of, and when Barry was squirming beneath him, legs pressing out against John's in an unconscious attempt to _open_ for him, he rolled, reversing their positions and enjoying the startled expression on Barry's face. 

Oliver knelt up behind Barry, hands stroking shoulders and neck, urging Barry to sit up so his mouth could reach the same places. John was so overwrought at this point that any contact was sure to bring him soon, not to mention the sight of Oliver lavishing the softest of touches where his own mouth had recently been, soothing the marks he had left. So when Barry took himself and John in hand together, long fingers just barely making the span, he had to close his eyes to avoid coming right then. Barry stilled and then tentatively slid his grip along them slowly, and back. John concentrated on his breath and when he found more control, opened his eyes. 

Oliver had his arms around Barry, helping to hold him up so that Barry could use both hands. He was watching over Barry's shoulder. Barry squeezed his legs together, embracing John hard. He kept up the steady, slow rhythm of his hands, face tight with concentration, and let his hips join the motion. Suddenly, he bowed backward and semen splashed John's belly. John stifled his own groan at climax so he could hear Barry all the way through over the rushing of his own blood.  
*******

In the early morning, Oliver walked Barry the three blocks to the train station. Before security, Barry hesitated—hand or hug. Oliver scoffed lightly and embraced him hard. "Need and trust," he said, softly. "You can call either of us, anytime." He pulled back. "And I hope I can call you…?"  
***

Lyla woke John with a cup of coffee and made their _talk quietly_ gesture. "Sara's still asleep," she said happily. "Tell me all about Barry."  
***

When Oliver keyed in, thinking to shower and change clothes before anyone arrived, Felicity was waiting. "Everyone's out," she said. "You've been avoiding my apology. I'm sorry." 

"You have nothing to apologize for," he sighed. "I regret that you found out that way." 

Felicity gave a funny smile with her bottom lip caught in her teeth. "It's okay, I think you found out about the same time I did. For what it's worth, I'm much tougher than you give me credit for." 

"I'm not only trying to spare you what you think. I've never been with anyone for long. I tend to be in love with more than one person at a time. You deserve something different. Someone focused on you."

"I think I'm supposed to be the judge of that." She heaved a sigh. "But it might not be the best fit for me, being somewhat insecure. I have to say, I was unprepared for the addition of Barry to your equation." At his shocked expression, she added, "Nothing to do with cameras, which are currently off here, by the way. "It was his body language yesterday during dinner. Listen, it's really none of my business. But I want you to consider trusting me up front."

Oliver nodded. "Like you said, I'm just catching up to it all myself."

She put the flash drive in his hand. "I might want to borrow that sometime," she said, "in the unlikely event that the memory ever fades." She raised an eyebrow. "Watch it. I gotta get to my _paying_ job." She left.  
***

John invited Roy home for dinner with the family. The kid needed more than one place to belong—that much was clear. It turned out that Sara's baby faces had a magical ability to make him laugh. John was helping with the dishes when Lyla whispered, "Does he know?"

"Lord no," John replied. 

"Poor guy, out in the information cold."

"Well, he has some maturing to do first. Has some unproductive attitudes." 

"Are you saying he's homophobic?" 

"His gang sure was." And then John started laughing.

"Yeah?" Lyla asked. 

He tried to compose himself. "If he did find out, I was just imagining what he'd think the next time Oliver takes out the red candle for him."  
***

On the train, Barry had an unusual impulse to call Caitlin just to talk, but he didn't. He gently rubbed a bite mark on his neck, renewing the sensation of John's teeth on his skin. It made him hard all over again. He closed his eyes and revisited waking up this morning, Oliver's limbs intertwined with his, accepted, safe. He took a long, slow breath. Flipping open his laptop, he worked the rest of the way home and didn't think once about Iris.


End file.
